Mortal Vindication
by Madame Mystere
Summary: Vespa has spent her entire life running from her father's name, but when she learns of his innocence she vows to stop at nothing to set him free. But what happens when she has to choose between her father and the man who raised her? What happens when she meets a red haired boy? What happens when she sees Harry again... and why does the back of her hand have a familiar shaped scar?
1. Prelude

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc... are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Also, please note that while the prelude is in 3rd person narrative, the rest of the story will be in 1st person narrative.**

There was no happiness to be found here.

The feeling of dread was inescapable.

Even as the teenage girl walked draped in a blanket, the penetrating cold that the dementors exuded seemed to seep into her very skin. She shivered uncontrollably, her body struggling in vain to maintain what little warmth her new found fate brought her. For although the sounds of the waves crashing against the stone walls were growing louder, so too were the voices inside her head as she approached the two cloak covered creatures...

_'Take the children and run...'_

The putrid smell of decaying flesh and over ripe fruit clung to the back of her throat as she passed the dementors, causing her to gag.

_'Stand aside, silly girl...'_

She stumbled blindly forwards as the icy fingers of loss closed around her throat, suffocating her. With the last of her strength she threw herself forwards, laughing with indescribable joy when her hands came into contact with the rusted iron gates. Forcing her eyes open she pushed them aside and walked out into the cool sea air.

A man was stood waiting wearing a patching travelling cloak wrapped tight around his body, the calm of his face emphasised even more so by the small scars that littered his jaw. The girl smiled as she approached, her stormy grey eyes reflecting the weather. The man opened his arms and enveloped her against his body. She sighed contently, relaxing into the warmth of his embrace. They stood like this for several moments before reluctantly pulling apart.

"You look dreadful." The man said, taking a step back to inspect her appearance. Her hair was matted to her waist and filled with dirt and grime, as was the rest of her. She was nothing more than skin and bones, and dark bruises covered almost every inch of her. "When was the last time you ate?"

The girl shrugged. "I don't remember."

The man shook his head. "The sooner you get away from this place the better." He took out his wand and offered her his arm. "I'll make us some French onion soup."

She couldn't help the smile. It hurt her face she hadn't smiled for so long. Grasping his arm she turned to take one last look at the place that had been her home for the past three years. The man turned on the spot and with a loud bang –

Vespa Black walked free from Azkaban.

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Constructive criticism is welcome, but flames are not


	2. You Can't Handle The Truth

**Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc... are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**Also, please note that while I previously said that the story would be in 1st person narrative for some reason it didn't flow right with me. As a result the whole story will be written in 3rd person narrative.**

**Author's Note - On a personal level I want to apologise for the time it has taken me to upload another chapter. My stepmother's mother passed away recently, and now my stepmother has been diagnosed with breast cancer. As you can imagine things are a little hectic at the moment, but thank you for your patience and I'll try to upload as often as I can.**

**Author's note 2 - I also want to thank thesummersky and Tayler Snape13 for their reviews.**

**_BLACK STILL AT LARGE_**

_Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today._

_"We are doing all we can to recapture Black," said the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, "and we beg the magical community to remain calm."_

_Fudge has been criticized by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis._

_"Well, really, I had to, don't you know," said an irritable Fudge. "Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it – who'd believe him if he did?"_

_While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand that Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse._

-o0o-

Vespa closed her eyes against the cold night air and blamed the wind for the tear that rolled down her face. The newspaper article that depicted Sirius Black's tragic tale had weighed heavy on her heart, especially as their lives had and always would be intertwined. It did not matter that they had not seen one another for twelve years. And it did not matter that the Ministry of Magic and the Daily Prophet portrayed Sirius as mass murdering madman... What mattered was that she had once believed them.

With a sigh, Vespa tossed the newspaper into the public bin outside of a closed cafe and continued on her way down the abandoned Muggle London street. How could she have thought that Sirius had been capable of such things? He was her father. He was the same man who had sung to her each night before she went to sleep. He was the same man who had cried with pride when she'd first used magic. How could she have thought that he had betrayed them to Voldemort?

Regret and guilt battled for dominance inside her head as Vespa approached the Antiques shop. The sign above the window read 'Sebeök Selections' and she knew that she was in the right place. The Sebeöks were one of the oldest and well known wizarding families. Originally from Hungary, they had emigrated to Britain during the Global Wizarding War in support of Gellert Grindelwald. Casting such thoughts aside, Vespa rapped the bronze knocker thrice. A few moments passed before there was the sound of a chain being removed and the peeling wooden door opened.

A man's face was illuminated from inside. He was young, though there was a fair amount of stubble on the lower half of his face. His hair was long and dark, braided into dreadlocks and greatly contrasted by the brilliant green eyes that were regarding Vespa with curiosity.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, opening the door a little wider to reveal that he was dressed in a pair of black cotton shorts and nothing else. Vespa's eyes widened as they travelled over his muscular arms and torso, both of which were covered with tattoos and littered with scars. With the shock of seeing a half naked man, and eyes that reminded her so much of Lily's, Vespa found herself unable to form a coherent thought. Seconds passed as she continued to stare at the man's chest before his amused snort brought her back to her senses. Her eyes returned to his and she thrust her hand forward more forcefully than she had originally intended.

"My name is Vespa Black." she introduced herself, ignoring the way the rough skin of his hand felt against her own when he returned her handshake. "I'm here to see Quinton Sebeök."

He frowned. "Isn't it a little late?"

"I would have come earlier but... this was the only time that I could get away." Vespa explained. "It's important." She added, when the man still seemed unimpressed. He regarded her with a calculating gaze and then moved aside, motioning with his head for her to come inside.

Vespa stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind her. If the man hadn't been what she had expected then the shop was even less so. Instead of the 'organised chaos' she had come to associate with an antique shop what she found was very organised indeed. Several aisles were formed by standing bookshelves that housed everything from playing cards to garden gnomes. The left wall was covered from floor to ceiling with books of every size and binding. To the right the floor was raised on a platform and contained the more fragile items, such as a set of crystal decanters. From the ceiling hung wooden airplanes and the like - she even saw a working model of the solar system. And it was much larger than it appeared on the street; there was defiantly magic involved in the architecture.

To the back of the shop was a glass counter that enclosed various pieces of jewellery laid out on black velvet cushions. On top of the counter was an old fashioned cash register, and behind the counter through the glass she could see a small coffee table, complete with two very inviting overstuffed chintz armchairs. Vespa was admiring a beautiful pair of diamond and sapphire earrings when the man reappeared from the small door to the right that she hadn't noticed. He was carrying a tray containing a tea pot, milk and sugar, a spoon, and two cups and saucers. Setting the tray down on the coffee table he looked at Vespa expectantly.

"Well?" he said, rather rudely. "It's the middle of the night. Are you going to tell me what you want so that I can go back to my bed, or not?"

Deciding that he had every right to be more than a little grumpy, Vespa walked around the counter and settled in the remaining armchair. It was only after she had poured herself a cup of tea that she realised what she had said.

"You're Quinton Sebeök?" she blinked in shock, almost spilling the milk and adding more than her usual splash.

The man arched an eyebrow at Vespa. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"No." she said quickly. "No, I just thought that you'd be..."

But Vespa couldn't finish the sentence. What had she thought? When she had been informed about the owner of the antique shop all she had been told was that he was a Squib who had decided to live in both the Wizarding and Muggle world. Had she really already formed a picture of him in her mind? And what did that say about her that her first notion of a Squib hadn't been one as strong and imposing as Quinton clearly was? Vespa prided herself on not being a witch who gave any stock to the purity of blood. She cared for the rights of creatures and beings alike – for Godric sake, her guardian was a werewolf! Had she really been prejudice towards Squibs?

"I get that a lot." Quinton said as if reading her thoughts, and Vespa flinched at the coldness in his voice.

"I didn't mean –"

"Why don't you just tell me what it is you want so that I can go to bed and you can leave?" he suggested, adding a sugar cube to his cup of tea.

Vespa opened her mouth to speak and once again found herself at a loss for words. She was appalled with herself. Her whole life she had been judged by children and adults alike for the so-called sins of her father, and here she was doing to it someone else... albeit unintentionally.

"I know what it's like to be judged by people who don't know you and have no right to form an opinion." Vespa said, uncertainly. "I didn't mean to do that to you. I'm – I'm sorry."

Quinton looked at her with those familiar eyes for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, the corner of his mouth curled upwards into the barest hint of a smile. "You said that what you need is important?" he prompted.

"It's not so much that I need something..." Vespa admitted, fingering the rim of her teacup nervously. "Rather, I need information. Is it true that your grandfather was once a caretaker at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?"

Quinton frowned at the nature of her question but answered it all the same. "Yes, for seven years or so."

"I'll bet that he's told you a good few stories about working there. No doubt he caught several students in places they shouldn't be." Vespa said, sipping her tea.

"That was a part of his job, I suppose" Quinton shrugged.

"Are there stories in particular that you remember? I'm always looking for a good anecdote."

Quinton frowned at Vespa. "Why don't you tell me what you really want to know?" he suggested.

Vespa sighed. She had all the subtlety of a blunt axe. Dropping the pretence, or at least a part of it, she set her teacup down and leant towards Quinton in her eagerness. "I'm starting school this year and I'm a bit of a trouble maker. Of course, causing trouble and getting caught for it isn't exactly ideal. If you happen to know of any ways into and around the castle that Dumbledore doesn't know about... well, I'd be more than happy to pay you for your assistance."

Quinton shook his head. "Why do you really want to know how to get around the castle undetected?"

"I want to help my father." Vespa said.

She blinked in shock. Why did she just say that? What could have possibly possessed her to admit that – ? Vespa's eyes dropped to the cup of tea in her hands. Her mouth fell open as she glanced at Quinton's untouched drink... and then to his self satisfied smirk.

"That's interesting." he mused. "That's very interesting."

"You –"

"Just because I can't use a wand doesn't mean that I can't use a cauldron." he said harshly, evidentially not having forgiven her for her earlier faux par.

"Veritaserum." Vespa guessed, and her hands began shaking so badly that she was forced to set down her drink before she spilled it. She was furious. The nerve of him. Not to mention that the use of veritaserum was illegal. "You bastard."

"Why do you want to help Sirius Black?" Quinton pressed, uncaring of her anger.

"Because he's innocent." Vespa hissed through clenched teeth, a vain attempt to stop herself from revealing anything more.

Her answer must have caught Quinton by surprise, for his eyebrows disappeared beneath the hair that swept across his forehead. "I was under the impression that you hated your father almost as much as I hated mine. What could have possibly caused you to start professing his innocence?"

Vespa gripped the arms of her chair as she struggled against the effects of the potion, but it was no use. She had no control over her body as her mouth opened and words poured out. "I've spent the last three years in a cell in Azkaban reliving the night that my family was murdered... and now I remember that is wasn't Sirius Black who betrayed us."

"What are you talking about?" Quinton asked, confused. "Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban for murdering thirteen people, not for –"

"Voldemort wanted us dead." Vespa growled, glaring as yet more words were forced from her and only vaguely aware that Quinton hadn't flinched at the mention of You-Know-Who's name. "The Potters, my parents and me went into hiding. We used the Fidelius charm. All these years I thought that my father was the Secret Keeper but he wasn't. It was Peter Pettigrew. He's the one who betrayed us to Voldemort. My father is innocent and I need to find some way of proving that, but I can't very well do so with professors breathing down my neck."

"All that means is that Sirius Black didn't betray you." Quinton said slowly, with the air of a parent sitting down a child to tell them that Santa Claus wasn't real. "It doesn't mean that he didn't murder all those people. If anything, it gives him a motive for going after Pettigrew."

Vespa got to her feet so quickly and with so much force that the armchair almost toppled over backwards, which was no small feat. "My father wouldn't murder twelve Muggles!"

"You say that with such conviction." Quinton smirked, he too standing. "But it wasn't so long ago that you believed otherwise."

"I thought wrong." Vespa spat, starting towards the door. She was more angry with herself than at Quinton, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

"Even if what you think is true what proof are you hoping to find?" Quinton followed after her.

"I don't know!" Vespa shouted, still unable to stop herself from answering his questions. "But I have to do something!"

Mercifully, she had reached the door. Pulling back the chain she grasped the handle.

"I have a map."

Vespa stopped. She turned and found Quinton standing much closer to her than she had expected. Her attention would have gone back to his near nakedness if it hadn't been for the folded piece of parchment that he held in his hands. He offered it to her and she took it, pulling aside the folds. Inside was a detailed map of Hogwarts castle drawn in green ink. She recognised the layout from the four months that she had spent there during her first year, but there were parts that she didn't recognise. Secret passageways were marked in places that she wouldn't have thought to look.

"My grandfather drew that from memory." Quinton continued. "So I'm not sure how reliable it will be, but –"

"Thank you." Vespa said, grudgingly. She wrenched open the door and had one foot outside before turning back to Quinton. "Use any potion on me again and you'll spend the rest of your days under the belief that you're a six year old girl."

"You're a very angry person, aren't you?" Quinton observed.

"Yes." Vespa admitted, frowning at the unwilling response. Eager to leave she did exactly that.

The wind had picked up considerably since she had been inside and it caught her mass of thick curls, blowing them about her face. Ignoring this, she took out her wand and held it out into the road. There was a deafening bang and a blinding light. She closed her eyes briefly, and when she opened them she found herself eye-to-window with a violently purple triple decker bus. Stan Shunpike appeared at the door wearing a purple conductor uniform and a smile so big that it had to have been uncomfortable. She handed over eleven sickles and stepped onboard. Unable to resist the urge, Vespa turned to look back at the antique shop. Quinton was still stood at the door watching her.

"'Ere, Lyra, you'll never guess 'oo we 'ad on the bus." Stan said as he led Vespa to one of the four poster beds.

"'oo?" she asked, slipping into the persona her knew her as.

"'Arry Potter." Stan thrilled, and Vespa unintentionally touched the fingerless dragon hide glove on her left hand.

"You don't say?" she tried to sound nonchalant.

"'Ere, you sit down and I'll tell 'ya all 'bout it."

Fifteen minutes later and Stan and Ernie were waving goodbye to Vespa as she walked up the path to her house. It wasn't much to look at; just a modest two bedroom cottage in the countryside of Shropshire, but it was home. Running a hand along the wind battered front door she pushed it open –

And stopped up-short.

Remus Lupin was sat on the bottom stair. He was dressed in his favourite striped pyjamas, the same ones that she had given him for his birthday four years ago, and a woollen dressing gown. The candle lay on the floor beside him bathed his face in a soft glow, casting dark shadows beneath his scars. He looked up as Vespa entered the cottage and closed the door, his mouth mashing into a thin line.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, his voice low and angry.

Vespa didn't answer.

... Vespa didn't answer? She almost laughed from the giddy feeling that overcame her. The potion had worn off.

"I asked you a question, Vespa!" Remus shouted, and she sobered instantly. "It is the middle of the night. Where – have – you – been?!"

"I went for a walk." she lied quickly, too quickly. "I – it's just that I don't really like being indoors for too long since..."

The anger drained from Remus' face and Vespa felt guilty. Sure, she had had some problems adjusting to life outside of Azkaban. Sometimes she had nightmares and she wasn't the same person coming out that she had been going in, but now she was using that as an excuse to lie to Remus... the man who had taken her in and raised her as if she was his own daughter. Vespa felt bad, but it was necessary to help her real father. At least, that's what she told herself.

"Of course." Remus nodded. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise –"

"It's fine." Vespa shook her head. "I'm fine now, I promise. In fact, I'm going to go to bed."

She made it as far as the third stair.

"Dumbledore came to see me earlier." Remus said, carrying the candle as he walked up the stairs behind her.

"What did he want?" she asked, panicked. "I'm still allowed to go to Hogwarts, aren't I?"

"You're still going." Remus reassured her. "But you aren't the only one."

Vespa missed a step and would have fallen forwards if it weren't for Remus grabbing the back of her jacket. She recovered quickly, turning to him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Well..." he laughed. "Dumbledore has offered me the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Isn't that brilliant?"

Vespa forced her face into a smile and hoped that it didn't come across as a grimace. "That's so great, Remus."

They continued up the stairs and as soon as Remus disappeared into his bedroom the smile disappeared from Vespa's face. Even with the map, sneaking around Hogwarts would now be nigh on impossible. She had been concerned when it was just professors and prefects she'd had to worry about, but now there was Remus... and she had just given him the impression that she was damaged and unstable. He'd be paying even closer attention to her now.

Cursing Merlin's saggy left buttock, Vespa turned in for the night.

Please Rate & Review

Constructive criticism is welcome, but flames are not


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